


Rebel, Rebel

by Willowingends



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Parties, Rebellion, Sneaking Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 18:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowingends/pseuds/Willowingends
Summary: She had always been held to certain standards. To be well-behaved, to be perfectly composed, to never show an inch of emotion. She was saying goodbye to those restraints every evening she spent with Nymphadora Tonks.





	Rebel, Rebel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare Vol.2.   
> Song Prompt - Rebel, Rebel-David Bowie.

These were Fleur's favorite nights.

 

Yes, she'd moved to Britain, to London, to help fight in the war that had began anew her last year of school. But – but she was still a young adult, a young adult who wanted to experience the world. Who wanted to know what a _normal_ life had to offer, so she could offer advice and recommendations to the young heroes when they decided they wanted to be normal. Or as normal as they could be.

 

But these nights, most of all, were for _her._

 

Giving herself one last curious glance in the mirror, she exited the bedroom she had been loaned at Grimmauld Place for the school year. She couldn't hide her smile that lit up her face as she encountered the auror who had knocked so quietly on her door.

 

“Took you long enough, at least you're wearing sensible shoes.” Tonks whispered, a conspiring look lighting up her dark brown eyes. She had gone with her usual appearance when she took Fleur out to her side of London. An androgynous face, her hair all brushed over to one side with the other side shaved, and that _fantastic_ leather jacket that she had made herself. It was shapeless, it was _glorious_.

 

Fleur's mother had always warned her to look out for the troublemakers, the rebels. She hadn't warned Fleur that it was because they were just as dangerous as any Veela. Just as alluring, just as enrapturing. They'd capture you with promises of freedom, and then keep you because they paid up.

 

“Sugar tits, stop looking like a mooncalf and let's go before Molly catches us.” Tonks' voice jarred Fleur out of her musings. Assuming a casual air, she nodded and together they snuck down the creaking stairs of Grimmauld Place. It was impossible, really, to sneak out of this house, but Fleur always got a thrill trying. Her heart beat loud in her chest, every shifting shadow was an elder adult blocking their way, every creak of the step was the sound that sealed their doom. Every edge of the carpet was Tonks' clumsy downfall.

 

They had done this often enough that when the auror began to keel forward because her boot got caught on the rug, Fleur's hand immediately darted out to grab her and haul her back. They had done this often enough that when they passed the library, Remus turned his head the other way and Sirius shot them a thumbs up with an envious look.

 

Once they were out the door, it was like they were free from a silent cage. Laughing and smiling like fools, they laced their hands together and took off racing down the street. There was a magic in this different from their own. The magic of flickering street lights across their torn jeans, their combat boots, Tonks' spiked collar and Fleur's soft cardigan.

 

The night was filled with the sound of cars rushing passed and the light of homes that had not yet fallen to sleep. People glanced out their windows at the running shapes, but didn't even blink, didn't consider if it was a runaway couple or two young women fleeing the world.

 

No one cared what they wore, where they were going. Fleur and Tonks didn't care what they would have thought anyway. They only cared that they loved themselves, and wanted to destroy the way the world was. And wasn't that what they were always fighting for? A different world, a place where they and their family and friends could be safe? Where they could just be themselves?

 

Tonks knew where they were going. She was the only one who did. She had connections, she said, but Fleur figured it was just because the places they went didn't expect ladies like her to be interested. To be invited. She looked too soft, too delicate she knew. One would figure after the number of police break-ups that she had been caught in and come out of bruised and bloodied they would have learned different. But they never had.

 

 

None of them but Tonks.

 

The woman enchanted her as no other, Fleur was unafraid to admit. The way her clumsiness sent her tumbling down the steps to the door below an apartment building. The way her smile lit up the evening as she pushed the door open in to the basement where one could hear, could feel, the hard playing of the guitars. The way her hand reached backwards and snagged Fleur's shirt, dragging her forward in to the fray of leather clad, colorful crowd.

 

It as divine. It made Fleur's blood sing. It made the heat of the air burn inside of her, made her Veela soul sing. And Tonks liked her for her daring, for her freedom, for her willingness and fight. Not for her beauty, not for the things Fleur could not control. Tonks loved the honest parts of her.

 

Slipping in to the crowd was a freedom that Tonks gave her. No one here stared at her. She was plain here. Her silvery hair, her translucent skin – none of that compared to the rampant colors, the torn dresses, the pierced faces. It was a new crowd that screamed rebellion at her, screamed Tonks' name in every patched jacket and wild smile. It was a crowd that they could get lost in. Their bodies pressing against each other and pulling away as they bounced, arms in the air, feet stomping the ground. Laughter bubbled from the two of them, eyes shining as they gazed at each other before losing sight in the mass of bodies. Happiness and freedom raced through Fleur's veins as she tossed back her head and shook her hair free.

It was freedom that she sought out. The chance to be herself instead of the proper young woman. To let her hair down and scream along with the lyrics. 

 

To lose control.

 

The music wasn't what Fleur's mother would consider real music. It was heavy on bass, heavy on guitar. It's words weren't meant to be heard, but felt. Experienced. They were meant to invoke emotions of resentment and anger. A will to change. That was what played on her nerves, sent her spinning in to Tonks' arms and sent her dress swirling around her. Her eyes shone bright, her teeth gleamed too sharp, and fire crackled under her skin with a desire to change the world. To claim the world as her own, with this rebellious young woman at her side.

 

In a few days, a few months, they might be broken, they might be gone. They might be fighting for their lives, for the future of the wizarding world. They could die. But they would have this moment, these moments together. Where they were just two young women, wild with life, free in love. They'd have these memories forever.

 

Tonight they'd leave this party with smiling faces or bloodied noses and bruised knuckles. They might leave flawless, or they might leave torn and ragged. The violence might be induced by the muggle authorities or the Death Eaters, but they would leave together. They would leave alive. They would leave hand in hand.

 

Apolline never approved of Tonks, the way she dragged Fleur to these underground parties. It was unbecoming of a Delacour. They were above such revelries, they were above such common pleasures. They were an ancient family of Veelas, they were basically nobles. To risk such danger not in the pursuit of justice but in the pursuit of joy, it simply wasn't right.

 

Fleur didn't care. She wanted more, she could never get enough. She never felt so alive as when Tonks picked her up, twirling her around on the floor with laughter falling from her lips, her eyes bright and her hair wild around them. It was like flying without wings.

 

 


End file.
